


Attached

by angeloncewas



Series: a divine gift or curse [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Imprisonment, Introspection, No beta we die like whoever caused the security issue will, One Shot, Solitary Confinement, Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29654082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeloncewas/pseuds/angeloncewas
Summary: Dream's dramatic speech ends up having some vague truth to it. He did construct a prison. It is inescapable. Tommy does get locked up inside of it.-There’s nothing either of them can do to the other, except maybe hoard some of the raw potatoes, and that just feels pathetic.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: a divine gift or curse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195631
Comments: 20
Kudos: 103





	Attached

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a Tumblr draft and it's really short, but it felt too long to just post on there.

  


He’s broken his communicator.

The thing was pretty much junk anyway, old and with a web of cracks across the screen, but as soon as Tommy swings it into the obsidian wall, all he feels is regret.

The sound it makes as it shatters is lost in the echo of the elder guardian’s cry and he bends to pick up the pieces without comment, cradling them in his cupped palms.

“You didn’t need it,” Dream assures him softly. Even while his words bubble and burn like poison, he speaks as though he means to comfort Tommy.

Maybe he does. Maybe he’s figured it out.

Maybe accepting hopelessness is the only way to be content anymore.

Tommy’s done it before. He can do it again.

Dream holds out his hand and Tommy shakes his head in silent protest. His lifeline may lead to nothing, but it’s seen him through war and restlessness, through enemies of many kinds, including the man in front of him. Tommy’s not willing to give that up so easily.

To his credit, Dream doesn’t push the issue. He takes the newly-replaced clock on the wall and tosses it into the lava, instead.

“You’re stupid,” Tommy says, but it falls flat without his usual bravado, body too weak to muster up proper spite.

Dream shrugs. “I thought I’d level the playing field.”

  


It’s just the two of them now.

Their fates are tied, leading them to whatever end result Sam deems fit. There’s nothing either of them can do to the other, except maybe hoard some of the raw potatoes, and that just feels pathetic.

This what it’s _all_ led up to, in a sense. The scarlet line linking their pinkies, stretching across lands unconquered and lies told for no one’s benefit.

Tommy’s flown away before, but he’s always come back down.

Dream’s touched the sun and returned burning more times than Tommy can count.

They’ve both died twice. They both only have one chance left.

They’re both hanging on by desperate threads and to what the other can make tangible. There are no outside factors in an inescapable cage.

Dream won’t kill him, but Tommy’s not sure how it would play out in reverse, should they reach that point. Especially when he looks into the corner and sees, instead of concentrated evil, the closest thing he’s got to a mirror.

With grimy clothing and matted hair, it’s only a matter of time before he looks how Dream does, defeat heavy in the set of his shoulders.

It’s only a matter of time before the conditions of the prison start eating away at his brain.

  


Tommy runs a finger delicately along the shards of glass, the still-intact parts of the screen sputtering out an incomprehensible message sent out into the world.

It was nothing but worthless sentiment, even while functioning. His pleas had gone unanswered.

The first piece sizzles as it lands in the lava, then the second, and the third, the sound crescendoing until Dream puts a hand on his arm and stops him from throwing in the band.

“If you get rid of that,” Dream mutters, voice hoarse from an erratic mix of shouting and disuse. “Sam can’t replace it.”

There are etchings carved into the leather: a tiny carrot, the words _“right-hand man,”_ a shaky rendition of a compass. It’s a miniscule monument of the past, a survivor of everything Tommy has experienced.

“Good,” he answers. Dream’s eyes - wide and green and too human to match the horrors his hands have committed - trace the arc of it through the air as Tommy lets it burn. His grip weakens and Tommy almost laughs at the familiar predictability of the feeling. “That means you can’t use it against me.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Finally:
> 
> \- I can't stop doing the popcat thing as I type this  
> \- I went back to the disc war finale for some subtle stuff and damn their acting is so good  
> \- Check out my Tumblr, if that's your cup of tea. Same @ :)


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